What Are Friends For?
by Sanguinary
Summary: Tommy calls Merton for a ride. But what is Tommy doing in Chestervilla?


TITLE: What Are Friends For?  
AUTHOR: Sanguinary  
DISCLAIMER: Don't own the BWOC characters  
COPYRIGHT: September 15, 2001   
DISTRIBUTION: Ask and ye shall receive.  
RATING: PG 13 because of bad words.  
CATEGORY: Weird, humor  
FEEDBACK: Most excellent! Send it care of: Sanguinary_515@hotmail.com   
SUMMARY: Merton gets a phone call from Tommy. Tommy needs Merton to give him a lift. But why   
is Tommy is Chestervilla in the first place?  
  
~~  
  
How does one deal with a Goth wearing a fishnet shirt, leather pants and make-up? Especially   
if said Goth has been your friend for a year now and has never given you the slightest hint   
that they regularly dressed up like this?  
  
This all runs though my mind as I see Tommy approach my car.  
  
But maybe I should elaborate more on why I'm looking at a Gothed-out Tommy.  
  
~~  
  
I got the call at eleven-thirty. I had just finished watching the re-run of Angel (Charisma   
Carpenter is a goddess) when the phone rang. I answered it with my usual greeting.  
  
"Merton J. Dingle, at your service."  
  
"Merton! I need your help!" It was Tommy's voice, frightened and embarrassed all at the same   
time.  
  
"What's wrong? Zombies? Were-wolf hunters? No clean underwear?" The last is meant to be a joke   
but it passes right over Tommy's head.  
  
"No, I need you to drive to Chestervilla and come and get me. I'm at the end of the Old Pier."  
  
"Chestervilla? What are you doing there at this time of night?" Chestervilla was a town about   
half-an-hour from Pleasantville but it wasn't any place that you wanted to be a night.   
Chestervilla (or Chester-Vegas as it was known) was where they collage kids partied and some   
of the clubs rumored to be there were of the... exotic nature. I had planned to check them out   
after I graduated but until then, I was already so much of a freak that I didn't need rumors   
that I was into S 'n' M.  
  
"Look, I didn't phone to get a lecture," He sounded exhausted, "But you're the only one I   
could trust to come. Hurry please!"  
  
"Fine. I'll be there soon." I hung up, feeling slightly pleased that my friend trusted me to   
come and get him. But not enough to tell me why?   
  
Well, I'd find out when I got there.   
  
I grabbed my coat and the keys to the hearse. Walking up stairs, I could see my sister   
watching Dawson's Creek on the big screen. Normally I'd be up there beside her, watching with   
her, but Angel came before DC.   
  
"Hey freaker," She turned to look at me, "Where are you going at this time of night?"  
  
"To pick up Tommy, bratty."   
  
"Want me to cover for you?" Sometimes our parents showed a rare (very rare I might add) glimmer   
of concern for us.  
  
"No. Just don't let them know I'm gone."  
  
"Sure." And she went back to watching DC. Becky may be a royal pain in the ass but she wasn't   
all that bad.  
  
I walked outside, feeling the cool night air brush against my skin. I love this time of night,   
when everyone is quiet. It's before the Graveyard shift starts and just after the partiers'   
head for home. Sometimes I like to come outside and just stand in the darkness. Corny, I know   
but I like it.  
  
Heading for my car, my mind runs over Tommy's words. {You're the only one I could trust to   
come.}I open the door and jump in, shoving my keys into the ignition.  
  
Why me? He only seems to care when I have information that he needs.  
  
Sighing, I turned the key, shifted into reverse and pressed the gas pedal.  
  
~~  
  
The drive was boring, just a few cars and trucks on the way there. I had the radio tuned to my   
favorite station (101.5, The Specter) and I was planning out the plot of my next story when I   
passed into Chestervilla limits. I headed for the Old Pier.  
  
The Old Pier was the wrong side of the tracks (then again, all of Chester-Vegas is on the   
wrong side of the tracks). It was called the Old Pier because it had been built on what had   
once been the waterfront. There once was a large lake during the 50's and 60's but during the   
last forty years it had dried up into nothing. When the water went, so did any legitimate   
businesses in Chester-Vegas. The clubs moved into the waterfront and they began to specialize   
in whatever dirty vices other towns wouldn't allow in their city limits. Rumor had it that   
there were at least three bordellos and one S and M club. I didn't come to Chester-Vegas much   
during the day and never at night so I had never checked to see if it was true.  
  
I can assure you, it was all true.  
  
On my way to the club, I passed by five prostitutes, eight drunks and a crazy wearing a 'The   
End Is Near' sign.   
  
Driving along, I looked for Tommy but I didn't see him. There didn't appear to be many people   
outside but no one out there looked remotely like Tommy.  
  
I reached the end of the Old Pier and the only person I could see was guy facing the opposite   
way from me. This guy was wearing tight leather pants that clung to him like a second skin.   
His pants may have rode low on his hips but he made up for it by having his fishnet shirt ride   
above his belly button. His hair was spiked, badly I might add, and he was wearing knee-high   
boots. I checked him out and found that my eyes were drawn to the muscles on his back.   
  
Now, and I should point this out before we go any further, I'm not into guys. Not in that way.   
I still love girls (Lori especially) but I'm not blind and just because I checked out a guy   
doesn't make me gay. Not one bit. Nada. Zip.  
  
Pulling up to the curb, I rolled down my window and popped my head outside.  
  
"Excuse me," I hoped that I sounded cool," But have you seen a guy around here named Tommy?"  
  
The guy turned around and I realized whom I was talking to.  
  
"Tommy?" I blurted out the first thing that came to mind," When did you start wearing make-up?"  
  
Tommy, who was looking like a man-slut, had his face covered with white grease paint. His lips   
were black with lipstick and I could see eyeliner on him. Part on my mind was having trouble   
processing this information. I shut off the engine and got out of the hearse.  
  
"Merton," His voice came out in a sigh of relief," Thank God you're here. I thought that you   
might not come!"  
  
"Why wouldn't I come?"   
  
"Well... I did call you at 11:30." He pauses, "And I asked you to come to the Old Pier. Not   
many people would drive here at anytime."  
  
"Tommy," I shake my head, trying to look serious, "You should know me better than that. We're   
friends. You've saved me enough times so why shouldn't I return the favor. Uh... by the way,   
why did you need to call me?"  
  
"My ride didn't show up."  
  
"Who was it?"  
  
He shakes his head. "No one you'd know."  
  
"Try me."  
  
"Michael Dartmouth."  
  
Inside, I'm shocked. Well, I'm also shocked on the outside. "Michel! But he's..."  
  
"The priest's son, I know, I know," Tommy rubs his eyes, smearing his mascara. "He usually   
comes to pick me up around 11:00 but he didn't show up tonight. When half-an-hour had gone by,   
I knew something had happened. I don't know what he does here in Chestervilla but I know he   
didn't want to talk about it."  
  
I lean against my hearse, trying to compute all of the knowledge that he's just handed me.   
"Tommy, when did you start being a Goth? And why didn't you tell me?"  
  
"I wanted to tell," Tommy looks at me, his brown eyes staring into mine, "I really did. But...   
I've been a Goth for three months now."  
  
"Why the sudden change?"  
  
"It was after I became friend with you. I decided that I would look up Gothic culture on the   
Internet and find out more about you. And, the more I read, the better it sounded. I ended up   
finding the address to a club in Chestervilla that had a big Gothic culture. So, I got dressed   
up, caught a ride with Michel and started coming here every Friday. I was going to tell you   
but when I realized that you weren't into the same things as the other guys at the clubs, I   
thought that I should wait." He hung his head, his brown hair sweeping over his face. "I'm   
sorry."  
  
I reach over and pat him on the back, "It's O.K. I understand."  
  
"Hey. How much for your bitch to give me a blow-job?"  
  
We both look over and stare at the man standing about three feet to the right of us. He's   
naked except for a leather thong and chains hanging from his assorted piercings.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I said, how much for you bitch to give me a blow-job? I'll pay you fifty bucks."  
  
Now I'm really embarrassed. I've only been here for five minutes and I've already been   
identified for the loser I am. I just hope that Tommy doesn't decide to take this as a joke.  
  
"Excuse me," Tommy starts to talk, "But I..."  
  
"Shut up bitch!" His voice is filled with contempt. "I wasn't asking you. So," He turns back   
to me, "What do you say?"  
  
He thinks that I'm Tommy's master. And he wants to pay me money so Tommy can blow him? I shake   
my head in disbelief.  
  
"Come on! I'll pay you seventy bucks!"  
  
"No." My voice is firm but inside I'm shaking with laughter.   
  
"George!" I turn my head towards the voice. It appears to be coming from the outline of a   
woman standing in the doorway of a club. "Leave them alone!"  
  
"But I want a blow-job!" His voice is whiny and he pouts at the shadow.  
  
"Go bother one of the prostitutes down the street. Leave the Goths alone."  
  
George stomps away, grumbling under his breath. The woman walks closer and as the light fades   
I get my first good look at her. And my brain stops functioning.  
  
She's got waist length black hair tied up in a braid, dangling over her right shoulder. Her   
face is pretty and she's not wearing any make-up besides red lipstick but it's obvious that   
she doesn't need it. But what really gets my attention is what she wearing.  
  
Or better phrased, what she's not.  
  
The woman is wearing a black, leather dominatrix suit that barely covers her... um...   
sensitive areas. And I'm not even bothering to hide the raging hard on that I have. She   
swaggers over, a whip in her right hand, a pain of handcuffs in her left.  
  
"Hey, nice bitch." Her voice drips with sex.  
  
"Thanks." I desperately think of something to say, "Uh... nice whip."  
  
She smiles, "You've got good taste. What's your name, honey?"  
  
"Merton." I turn and point to Tommy, "And my bitch's name is Tommy."  
  
"I'm not..."  
  
CRACK  
  
The woman cracks her whip at Tommy and I suddenly find myself without a hard-on.  
  
"Quiet." She looks disapprovingly at me, "You really shouldn't let him talk back to you like   
that. I find that if you assert yourself that you will get better respect."  
  
"Thanks for the tip." I say this with a straight face. "I'll keep that in mind. Well, we've   
got to go. We have a long night ahead of us."  
  
"I know how it is," She winks, "And you two make such a cute couple."   
  
Before I could tell her she was wrong, she walked away, giving me a very good look at her ass.   
"Come back soon honey, and if you ever feeling like playing around a little bit, just ask for   
the Mistress of Pain." She disappears into the club, leaving Tommy and I staring after her in   
amazement.   
  
I recover first.  
  
"They thought you were my bitch."  
  
"They thought that I was your bitch."  
  
"You're my bitch."  
  
"No I'm not!"  
  
"Yes you are!" I taunt him as I get back in the car. "Tommy is my bitch! Tommy is my bitch!"  
  
"Shut up!"  
  
"Fine, I'll stop. Now get in the car."   
  
Tommy walks around the car, giving me time to reflect on my newfound status. He tries to open   
the door, but I've locked it from the inside.  
  
"Merton! Let me in!"  
  
"Say my name!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Say my name, bitch!"  
  
"MERTON!"  
  
I may be a freak, but I'm a freak with a bitch. Oh yeah, life's good.  
  
~End~  
  
  



End file.
